The Last Train
by Saturday
Summary: Spot glared at nothing in particular. If there was anything he hated, it was sympathy. [mild violence, swearing, slash]


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Author's Note: Reformatted August 8, 2005.

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Disclaimer: Newsies belong to Disney, title inspired by a song on the Travis album _The Man Who, _and Neptune belongs to me.

-

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You left me on the shelf, and now there's no one to rely on  
But if it's all the same to you, here's what I'm gonna do  
I'm gonna buy a gun, gonna shoot everything, everyone  
And then I'm coming for you 'cause it was you that drove me to  
This could be the last train

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-"The Last Train," Travis

-

Spot Conlon was in deep shit.

He didn't really realize how much trouble he was in until he felt Sugar's fist slam into the side of his face. Of course, he punched him back, knocking him to the ground. No one punches Spot Conlon and gets away with it. But before he knew it, someone had grabbed his arms and pulled them behind his back. "Shit," he muttered as he kicked behind him and sent whoever it was flying backwards.

The next blow hit him squarely in the jaw and he fell to his knees, feeling blood dribbling from his lip. A knee came smashing into his chest. Someone was kicking him repeatedly in the stomach, but he couldn't see who. His vision was blurring.  
They had a hold of his arms again, twisting them backwards so he thought they might break. Don't let them see pain, he thought, desperately trying to clear his face of emotion. That's just what they want. Hell, you're a Conlon. You're Brooklyn. But by then he realized he wasn't Brooklyn anymore.

"Ya like dis, eh, Spottie?" Sugar said mockingly as he neatly took of Spot's hat and socked him in the face. The boys Spot had once considered friends dragged him out of the Lodging House and onto the dock, and proceeded to assault him there. Of course. They wanted all of Brooklyn to see the great newsie leader go down.

He started to go numb from all of the blows raining down on his head, shoulders, chest, and stomach, and his mind began to wander. How the hell did I let this happen?

The icy water brought him back to reality with an unpleasant lurch. For a few glorious seconds it seemed the boys had decided to drown him in the river and let him die quickly, painlessly, but no, they pulled him back out again and hit him with his own cane.

It wasn't really the pain that tormented him; it was the way they were going to have him die, curled up and sobbing like a little boy. He deserved better than that for all he did for them. They pushed him back into the river, poking roughly at him as he struggled dully, their jeers and laughter echoing in his head. Even he knew this was the heroic end of Spot Conlon.

As they dragged him out again, Sugar grabbed Spot under his chin and forced him to look into his mud brown eyes. He was laughing at him, enjoying the fear that now shone in Spot's eyes. He leaned foreword, so they were almost nose-to-nose. "Sorry 'bout all dis, Spot," he whispered. His breath reeked of beer and stale bread. Spot tried vainly to pull away, but Sugar punched him in the face and pulled him close again. "Go on, yell. Ain't nobody gonna save ya now," he taunted, so softly Spot could barely hear him. "Nobody cares 'bout an ol' dead runaway, even if he was da leada o' Brooklyn. Yer days're ova, Spot. Ise takin' ova now."

His words stung more than every fucking time the boys punched or kicked him, which they continued to do. Thunder, who was second-in-command to him and a good friend, kicked him in the chest so hard it felt like Spot's lungs had collapsed. He gasped for breath, clutching his abdomen, feeling like his head was splitting open.  
And then, just as he began to loosen his grasp on consciousness, he heard a cry of pain apart from his own. He blinked his own blood out of his eyes, stunned as the fists that had been punching him suddenly fell away. Strong arms wrapped himself around him, and he felt his cane pressed into his hands before he was lifted off the ground.

Guess I'm dead, Spot reasoned. It was a nice thought, and he almost smiled as he allowed himself to drift into blackness.

He wasn't dead.

"Jesus, d'ya t'ink he's still alive?"

"Yeah, I checked his heart, its still pumpin' real good."

"What da hell're we gonna do wid 'im?"

"Dunno."

"Well he can't go back ta Brooklyn, they'll kill 'im."

"Who da hell was dat feller anyways?"

"Dunno. Huge bastard, if ya ask me."

Spot tried to open his eyes, but one of them seemed to be swollen shut. He looked around with his good eye, blinking blearily. Eventually, his surroundings came into focus. He was in a vaguely familiar room, on a vaguely familiar bed, with the thin covers pulled tightly over his chest. Ignoring his aching muscles, he sat up and looked around.

"Shit, Conlon, lie back down," someone said, pushing him back down. Spot looked over, and his eyes focused on a face he recognized.

"Blink," he started to say, but it came out as more of a pathetic, wheezy groan.

"Shaddup," Blink said, uncharacteristically serious. He started to put something cold and wet over Spot's swollen eye.

"Hey." Spot batten his hand away and looked over Blink's shoulder at Mush. He coughed. "Who-what da hell happened? Why-"

"Dat's what we wanna know," interrupted Blink. "Who was dat asshole, an' why were yer newsies tryin' ta kill ya?"

Spot sat up again, just narrowly missing hitting his head on the bunk above. "Where's Cowboy?" he demanded.

"He don' know yer heah," Mush answered the unasked question. "An' don' worry, we won' tell 'im. He won' be back from sellin his papes 'till lata."

"Why ain't you sellin' yer papes?"

Blink smiled a little. "Well, guess friends come foist, eh, Conlon?"

Spot glared at nothing in particular. If there was anything he hated, it was sympathy. He was a Brooklyn leader, he didn't need the pity of people lower than him-but then the truth sank in. He had failed. Sugar would be celebrating his victory in the Lodging House right now. Spot Conlon was no longer a part of Brooklyn.  
Blink and Mush were watching him intently. "Fer Christ's sake, lemme alone!" he yelled. "Go sell yer god damn papes!"

Mush looked rather hurt, but Blink pushed his chest. "He's an ass, jest let 'im think a bit," he said softly. He turned to Spot and tossed him his cane, smiling in a disappointed way. "Guess I'll be seein' ya when Jack an' everybody comes back ta da Lodgin' House."

Spot watched the cross the room, thinking deeply, before shouting, "Blink, ya bastard!"

He turned to look at him. "What?"

"Where's my bloody shirt?"

"Oh." He chuckled slightly and pointed to the fireside where Spot's shirt was hanging. Spot stood up, tried and failed to walk across the room, and sat down again. Blink looked genuinely concerned. He came back into the room and grabbed the shirt, tossing it to Spot. "Yer not leavin' are ya?" he questioned.

Spot pulled the shirt on over his head. "Yeah I am, ya got a problem wid dat?"

"Well for one t'ing, yer left eye's swollen pretty damn bad, yer cut an' bruised all ova, an' ya got 'bout fifty Brooklyn newsies tryin' ta kill ya," Blink answered smoothly, leaning back against the wall with his hands in his pockets.

Shirt back on, Spot gingerly touched his eye. He didn't let it show on his face how much it hurt. He stood up and grasped his cane, scowling. "You listen, Blink, I'se do what I want," he snapped.

"Ya could stay heah."

"An' what'd I do when Jack an' everybody comes 'round again?" he demanded. "It ain't as easy as it sounds, Blink. I don' think you Manhattan fellers are much o' me allys no more."

Blink looked a little annoyed at this. "Ise yer ally, ain't I? We carried ya home when dey was soakin' ya, me an Mush did."

"Ya carried me?" Spot cried, angry again.

"Jesus, Spot, you was neah dead! Anyways, you c'n sleep in Kloppman's bed. He said so hisself when we came in wid you all.well, soaked. An' he won' tell nobody dat yer heah, you c'n jest rest up an geddoutta heah." Blink pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Spot watched him. Although he wouldn't have admitted it for the world, he was extremely thankful to Blink for possibly saving his life. He was surprised he had even bothered, considering everything that had happened.

"So ya in, Conlon?"

"Yeah, I'm in." The two boys spit-shook, and Blink patted his back gently. Spot tried not to think how he shouldn't be taking his hospitality and sort of putting him in danger too, but he knew he needed the rest and this was the only comfortable place he could get it.

"Oh, an' Spot?"

"Yeah?" he answered as they made their way down the stairs to Kloppman's room.

"Yer gonna explain 'bout everythin' once yer feelin' betta, right?" Blink asked quietly, smiling a little half-smile that didn't go very well with his already mismatched face.

Spot smiled. "Yeah, maybe, Kid."

-

_"Spot! Think Neptune's gone bonkers! She's swearin' she saw Sugar back down 'round do corna!" Thunder yelled, almost falling on top of Spot in his hurry to tell him._

The Brooklyn leader shifted his papers to the other arm and grabbed Thunder by the collar in one quick movement. "Are ya kiddin'?" he demanded.

"No, I ain't," Thunder answered honestly. "Why da hell would I joke 'bout sommat like dis? Heah, come an' see 'er."

The two left the Distribution Center and hurried over to a small group of newsies. In the middle was Neptune, leaning against the wall with her glossy black hair cascading over one shoulder. "Neptune," Spot began, coming up close to her. "Tell me exactly whatchoo saw. If yer lyin', I'll- "

"Keep yer shirt on, I ain't lyin'," she snapped. "I was jest standin' heah wid Thunder an' I saw Sugar Redwood walk 'round da corna an' wink at me."

"Ya shoah it was 'im?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I ain't neva seen anybody else like dat."

"Who's Sugar Redwood?" one of the younger boys inquired, pulling on Neptune's shirt."

"He was da last Brooklyn leada, an' a real son of a bitch," she said simply. "Didn' care 'bout nobody but hisself an' his own fuckin' skin. So when Spot had jest had 'nuff, he came an' we'se kicked Sugar out. Guess he's back in town 'cause he wants his territory, y'know? I can' wait." She discreetly made a fist with one hand and cracked her knuckles.

Spot ran his fingers up and down the smooth wood of his cane. "Great," he muttered. "Jest poyfect."

"Well if I know Sugar, he won' attack right away. He'll take some time ta organize, get some big friends ta help 'im. Doesn' want ta damage his good looks, eh?" Thunder said supportively.

"Yeah," Spot said pensively, not really listening at all. He trusted Neptune and believed that she really saw what she said; even though he couldn't imagine Sugar had dragged himself all the way back to Brooklyn after all these years. His pride must have been seriously injured. Even so, if Sugar was back, it meant a whole lot of trouble for Spot. And, as the case may be, a whole lot of fun. 

-

Kloppman forfeited his bed to Spot with a small smile and decided to sleep in the armchair by the fire until the boy got better. His room, in Spot's eyes, was exactly as a bedroom should be: a sizeable bed, a simple wooden chest of drawers, and a window overlooking the street outside. He sat down on the bed and looked out the window, smiling.

"Spot, ya gotta rest so you c'n geddoutta heah, like you'se want," Blink said, pushing Spot down. Apparently he expected more resistance on Spot's part (which meant Spot had been doing a very good job acting like he wasn't in severe pain), because the next thing he knew the force of his own push had brought him falling directly on top of Spot.

They stared at each other for a second, so close their noses were actually touching. Then Blink sat up on his knees, a look of astonishment on his face. "Geez, sorry Conlon," he said.

Spot sat up, rubbing his chest, and tilted his head slightly. "Ya do know," he said, "dat you weigh 'bout twice as much's me?"

Blink's handsome face cracked into a smile. "Yeah, but it ain't my fault you'se small and unpredictable." He climbed slowly off the bed and stood there, looking at him. "So, uh.I'se gonna go an' see if I c'n sell da aftanoon edition wid Mush." His brown eyes looked anxiously over Spot's injuries.

"I'll be fine," Spot said quickly, answering the unasked question.

"Ya shoah?"

"Yeah."

Blink smiled and left the room, his thumbs hooked behind his suspenders. The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Spot collapsed onto the pillow, feeling worse than ever. He had carefully hidden it from Blink, but his head was throbbing and it had taken almost all of his energy to make it safely down the stairs without falling. He examined his right elbow, and saw quite clearly a long, deep gash that ran from his forearm to just about his wrist. He supposed Sugar had been having some fun with his dagger, although he didn't really remember anything clearly. Pain has a way of blinding you.

Spot closed his eyes and tried to ignore the dull aching he was feeling all over. After a few minutes, exhaustion overtook him and he fell into a restless sleep.

-

"So Blink, ya head 'bout Spot Conlon?" Race chuckled. "His newsies musta got sick o' him or sommat. Jack said dey killed 'im."

"Eidder dat, or he's outta da city, cryin'," Bumlets added. Race grinned and hit his hat.

"Shame, really, dat he lasted s'long just ta fall," he said thoughtfully, the corned of his mouth turned up. "He was real respected an' all, 'specially in Brooklyn. Thought his newsies really liked him, but I guess he did get."

"Distant?" Bumlets supplied.

"Yeah...distant." Race winked at Blink and walked off towards the Lodging House, humming merrily.

Once Bumlets was out of earshot, Blink grabbed Mush by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. "What!" Mush yelled.

"Ya didn' say anythin' to 'em, didjya?" Blink demanded, leaning closer to make sure nobody heard.

"Who?"

God, sometimes Mush is so damn slow, he thought angrily. "Race an' everybody," he snapped. "Ya didn' mention Spot, right? Ya swore not ta, Mush-"

Mush squirmed out of his friend's tight grip and ducked under his arm. "Course I didn', Blink. I have a big mouth, but I c'n keep if closed when I need ta. God, why dontchya trust me?"

Blink leaned back, looking calmer and rather disappointed. "I dunno."

"Well ya scared da shit outta me," Mush said, smiling. Blink's mouth slid slowly into a grin. He liked being friends with Mush; he always made him smile when he was pissed off, even when he just wanted to stay mad for a while.

"Sorry 'bout all dat," he apologized as the two of them headed towards the Lodging House. "Guess- Spot brings out da woist in us, y'know?"

"Yep," said Mush, although he didn't.

"Hope he's awright in dere."

Mush nodded. He pulled his shirt closer around him, pretending it would actually provide warmth against the cold November wind. Blink was freezing, too. His lips looked rather blue. They entered the Lodging House, Mush slowly climbing the stairs up to the sleeping quarters and Blink immediately bursting into Kloppman's bedroom.

"Knock next time, Kid, it's more p'lite," Spot said. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking out the window. The evening sun was shining directly on him, defining every curve on his body and making his face look flawless despite the blood and bruises. Blink gulped.

"Y-ya feelin' good?"

"No," Spot replied without taking his eyes from the window.

"Oh."

Spot shrugged. "Me head feels like its 'bout ta fall off, me chest aches, an' me arm's on fire, but I'se awright." His mouth tugged up in a lopsided smile.

"Ya really should clean da cut on yer arm," Blink said.

Spot turned to look at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Kloppman'll do it fer ya if ya want."

"It don't hoit too bad, think I'll live," Spot said, shrugging again and looking back out the window. His eyes were really starting to look creepy, illuminated by the sun.  
"Me friends think yer dead," Blink told him slowly, carefully not mentioning what Bumlets had added. When Spot didn't so much as blink, he continued, "I'se jest worried da Brooklyn fellers'll tell 'em Mush an' I.saved ya."

"Didjya beat 'em up?" Spot asked.

"Well yeah, we had ta."

"What 'bout Sugar?" He looked at him again. "Didjya soak Sugar?"

Blink's brow furrowed. "Sugar? Who-"

"Good lookin' guy wid brown hair an' a blue shirt. Sorta da leada, probably a dagger pokin' out o' his belt." Spot explained in a dark voice.

Blink thought for a minute. "Think Mush decked 'im, once or twice, yeah," he said finally.

"One thin' ya gotta know 'bout Sugar is he's real proud," Spot said softly. "He don' like nobody seein' 'im hoit or yelled at, 'cause it damages his reputation as a tough guy. So if ya scarred 'im bad, I don' think he'll tell Cowboy 'bout anythin'. Dose two weren't on real good speakin' terms anyway; Jack thought he had too much attitude an' Sugar doesn't like anybody else who's got power 'less dey're a goil... But he probably thinks I'm gone fer good, y'know?

"Oh." Blink shuddered slightly as Spot's icy blue eyes traveled over him, resting on the papers that were still clutched in his hand.

"Bad sellin' day?"

"I was thinkin' bout you," he replied. He mentally slapped his forehead. Spot raised an eyebrow, smiling slightly. "Well I was worried dat you was dyin' or sommat," Blink added hurriedly.

"I ain't dyin' Blink."

"I know dat," he cried angrily. "But- well, I didn' know dat. You was soaked pretty bad, Conlon."

Spot looked down at his elbow again, looking over the gash that was now a continuous crust of dried blood. _That's disgusting._ He looked away again and jammed his hand back into his pocket. "Yeah, I guess I was. But I'se okay now, so I'm gonna go an' geddoutta heah so Klopp c'n have his room back."

He started to move toward the door, but Blink stopped him. "Da boys'll see ya," he said desperately. "An' ya jest said so, yer not feelin' good. Kloppman doesn' mind 'bout sleepin in da corna, he likes da fireplace."

Spot smiled, his blue eyes laughing. "Really, now?" he said sarcastically. "Docta Blink thinks I should stay heah?"

"Yeah, I do," Blink replied calmly.

"But I'se leavin' t'marra."

"Yeah." He tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and instead asked, "Where are ya gonna go?"

Spot shrugged casually. "Somewhere far away, like Santa Fe," he chuckled, half to himself. "Dat'd really wipe da smile off Cowboy's face of he hoid I was in his dreamland an' he was stuck wid da lousy Jacobs goil." He walked over to the bed and sat down on the edge, concentrating on looking perfectly healthy.

He wants me to go, Blink realized glumly. He just wants to rest up and leave really early tomorrow. I guess everything they say about him is true; Spot Conlon doesn't like to have anyone help him out.

So he left.

-

_Spot gathered his Brooklyn newsies around him in the Lodging House that night to explain what exactly had happened. "Awright, fellers, listen up," he said softly. He was blessed with the gift of getting people to shut up with very little effort. "Ya'll know Neptune Murphy, right?"_

There was a general murmur of agreement, and Spot grabbed Neptune by the arm and pulled her next to him. "Ya'll trust 'er, right?" he demanded.

"Yeah," they chorused, and one older boy said "No" in a joking voice but Spot silenced him with a look. "Now we all know our Neptune c'n see poyfectly well, an' t'day she tol' me she saw a certain Sugar Redwood down by da distribution centa."

"What!" several people roared.

"Now some o' you younga boys're probably wonderin' who da hell Sugar Redwood is," Spot said calmly. "Y'know I wasn't in charge fereva-we used ta have a leada who didn' give a damn 'bout nobody else but hisself. I slept out in da streets a fair few times, an' nobody was proud ta be a Brooklyn newsie 'cause it meant you was broke an' midtreated an' too scared ta stick up fer yer own rights. We was da messed up borough, we wasn't tight like Manhattan an' Queens."

"But we ain't like dat now, are we?" Neptune yelled suddenly. "An' ya know why? 'Cause Spot heah, he knew what was goin' on an' he got us all t'getha ta get rid o' Sugar an' make Brooklyn awright again. An' he did a damn good job, too. Look at us, fer Christ's sake, Davey Jacobs said it hisself afore da strike. He said Spot Conlon's da key, Brooklyn's da key!"

Her announcement was met by many cheers from the rest of the boys. Spot smiled and waited for them to quiet down again. "So we'se come dis far an' Sugar's back an' he wants his territiory back. He wants ta turn Brooklyn back inta da dump it was when he was giving da orders. Are we gonna let 'im?"

"No!" they yelled.

"Are we gonna let 'im walk all ova us an' ruin our pride?"

"No!"

"Awright den." Spot licked his lips and leaned foreword so they all had to shut up to hear him. "We all got Neptune ta thank for da heads up, but a bunch o' you know dat Sugar ain't gonna jest waltz into da Lodgin' House one night an' stick his dagger in me chest. He likes ta kill wid style. He's gonna slowly pull each one o' ya back, one by one, 'till he's got an army o' teenage boys ta help 'im take ova. So I'se wantchya all ta be on da lookout an' sweah ya'll tell me if ya see any more of 'im. He's smart, don' underestimate him 'cause it could be da last thin' ya do."

Spot's smile grew, and he waited a good ten seconds for his speech to sink in. "Awright, ya c'n get ta bed now," he said finally, leaning foreword still and putting his hands on his knees.

The crowd dissolved, chatting nervously about everything that was going on. Only Neptune stayed behind. "Well, he ain't getting' me ta knife ya in yer sleep," she said bluntly, smiling, before heading up the stairs behind the other guys.

-

Blink couldn't sleep that night. He rolled over onto his stomach and tried to block out the noise of Mush's snoring, but it just seemed to get louder every second. Finally, he threw his pillow at him. It landed neatly on top of Mush's face and muffled the sound considerably, but now Blink had nothing to rest his head on. He rolled back onto his back, found that this was no more comfortable than on his stomach, and in the end sat up.

What the hell is wrong with me? he thought angrily. The thing was, Spot's face kept popping up whenever he tried to close his eyes. He couldn't stop thinking about the look on his face as his newsies soaked him- fear and numb pain and resigned failure. It was so out of character. He didn't think of Spot as a person who was able to feel afraid.

But then again he had never thought of Spot as a person who he would be able to love; yet here he was thinking about him in the middle of the night with no shirt on.  
Blink gulped and leaned back against the bedpost. He knew he couldn't tell anyone, especially not Spot. Nobody could know if he wanted to stay alive. He could just picture what Jack would say if he ever told him. "Blink loves Spot, therefore we'se gonna beat Blink 'till he dies." He shuddered slightly. The last thing he needed was to be abandoned by his newsies because of a bunch of feelings he couldn't explain.

And he was leaving tomorrow.

Blink's vision blurred slightly, but he swallowed and fought back the tears that were begging to break loose. Spot isn't crying over me, he told himself, furious. He isn't sad about leaving, so why should I care? I should be happy that we saved his before his newsies-

He reached over and grabbed his pillow off Mush's face. He could stand the snoring; he needed something to muffle his sobs.

Apparently, the pillow wasn't enough. "Hey Blink, y'awright?" Race whispered.

"Fuck off," he snapped.

"Well if yer gonna be dat way-"

"Shaddup."

He heard Race's bed creak and knew that he was rolling over, probably deciding it wasn't worth the argument. Blink took several deep breaths and wiped his eyes on the now soggy pillow, determined that no one else would hear him cry. He knew Race would keep his mouth shut. He may be a loud guy and an obnoxious gambler, but he knew when it was best just to drop it completely.

He hoped he did, anyway. He didn't want Jack confronting him the next day, because he knew he wouldn't be able to deny anything. In that situation, it may be safer to pack his bag and leave with Spot.

-

_Thunder brushed his sandy blonde hair out of his eyes. "So Spot, ya gonna come sellin' wid my an' Neptune or what?"_

Spot glanced at him. "I dunno, think I'm gonna jest go down by meself t'day. I need ta think, y'know?" he said.

"Oh-awright," Thunder answered slowly, looking at Neptune. "Guess we'll see ya 'round den."

Neptune straightened her cap over her hair and tucked her papers under her arm. She looked at Spot like he had let her down, but didn't say anything to him. "C'mon, Thunder, lets sell our papes afore everyone in New Yoik has da mornin' edition."

The two walked off, leaving Spot alone in the Distribution Center. He wondered why they were so put off by his wanting to be alone. It wasn't the first time he had asked for some privacy lately- in fact, he had spent the last few days selling by himself. Just bitter, I guess. He held his papers to his chest and made his way down the street, wondering why he suddenly felt so guilty.

-

Spot woke up to the sound of the Manhattan newsies singing their way out of the Lodging House, occasionally leaping over each other or performing the well-loved pelvic thrust. He groaned slightly and sat up. What he wouldn't give to be out there with him, pretending Sugar had never been born and his newsies still thought of him as no less than a god.

He put his boots and hat on and stood up stiffly, pulling his suspenders over his shoulders. They were faded slightly, with a large stain on one strap that looked awfully like blood. Man, I must look awful, he thought grimly.

Well there was a bathtub just upstairs in the washroom.

Spot chuckled at the idea. Sitting naked in the Manhattan washroom, when Jack comes back for something he forgot. Ha, would that be the worst way to be discovered or what.

He stood there for a minute, waiting until he thoroughly woke up. The thing he hated most was that there was absolutely nothing for him to do all day except sleep. He couldn't risk stepping outside lest someone recognized him and going upstairs could be dangerous because he didn't know when the Manhattan boys came back, but all he knew was just standing here was too much to bear.

I wonder if Blink's gone selling his papes, he thought vaguely. Of course he has, he as no reason to check on me every morning, he answered himself. He stretched out his arms and caught a whiff of his own body. _Jesus, I need a bath._

He stood there, thinking hard. Finally, he decided it was worth the risk of being caught to clean himself up. He was grossing himself out.

Spot grabbed the towel that was hanging on a nail on the wall and slid the door open. The lobby was deserted, thankfully. He didn't fancy bumping into anyone at the moment. He hurried upstairs, the towel tucked under his arm, and entered the empty sleeping quarters. Blink's bed was unmade and his pajamas where hanging over the side, as if he had just taken them off and tossed them there. It made Spot smile for some reason. He reached out to touch them, then, as though realizing what he was doing, drew his hand back quickly.

I'm going nuts, he thought, walking into the washroom and dumping the towel on the floor. There was a rather grimy bar of soap sitting by the sink. He picked it up and began to pump water into the tub as quietly as he could, so the noise wouldn't attract Kloppman.

Once the tub was full, he cast the soap into it and pulled his shirt off. It smelled awful. Maybe I should wash my clothes too, he pondered grimly as he took off his pants, so when he climbed into the bathtub he brought his clothes in with him. It was quite a relief to scrub the dried blood, dirt, and sweat off his body.

When he was done, he used the soap to clean up his shirt too. The soap smelled strange, but he supposed what really mattered was he was clean. He stepped out of the tub, left his shirt and pants on the floor in a heap, and wrapped the towel around his waist.

Looking up, he saw something that made his heart stop. Kid Blink was standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets, with a peculiar smile on his face. He leaned against the doorframe when he saw Spot had noticed him. "Pretty stupid, Conlon, takin' a bath when any o' da boys coulda seen ya," he said.

Spot carefully kept his face expressionless. "Well I smelled bad," he answered calmly. "Sides, I didn't expect any o' ya fellers ta come back. Guess Manhattan ain't as serious 'bout work as Brooklyn is."

"Guess not." Blink shrugged and his brown eyes flickered over Spot's bare chest and back onto his face. He grinned. "So ya gonna get dressed or what?"

"Me clothes are soaked, Blink," Spot replied, realizing this for the first time.

"Well then ya'll have to borrow some o' mine." Blink walked over to his bed and pulled from underneath it a pale blue shirt and brown pats. "Dey won't fitchya, but its better dan nuttin'."

_Not really._

"Thanks," Spot said, talking the clothes from him and casually taking off his towel to pull the pants on. Blink stared determinedly at the floor. "So," Spot continued as he pulled on the shirt. "Why are ya heah anyway?"

"Well-uh-I felt like I needed ta check on ya," Blink admitted. "I was-well, worried you had left early dis mornin' or sommat."

Spot just looked at him. Nobody had ever really cared what he said or did unless it had something in it for them, but Blink sounded seriously concerned. He licked his lips. "I'se takin' da last train outta heah t'night," he said.

"Awright," Blink answered.

They stood there for a minute in awkward silence as Spot unbuttoned the shirt a little and Blink watched him. Finally, Spot looked up. "Tell Kloppman I say thanks fer lettin' me use da towel," he said, and he grabbed his clothes and left the room.

Blink stared after him for a couple of seconds, then sat down on the edge of Skittery's bed and stuffed his face into his pillow.

-

__

"So Sugar's back," Jack said.

"Yes," Spot groaned, exasperated.

He watched Jack run his fingers though his hair, his brown eyes traveling around the noisy Lodging House. "So-what're ya gonna do 'bout it? Whaddaya want me ta do?"

"I'm not shoah," Spot confessed. "Me newsies don' seem ta care much anymore-well, 'sept Neptune, I guess." He looked over to where she was sitting cross-legged, playing poker with a tall back boy they called Tool.

"Well course dey don' care anymore," Jack announced.

Spot's piercing eyes snapped back onto Jack. He raised an eyebrow dangerously. "An' why is dat?"

"TOOL!" Neptune yelled, leaping up and lunging at the already running boy. "TOOL, I'M GONNA KILL YA! YA LOUSY, CHEATIN' BUM! NO-GIT OVA HEAH, I AIN'T DONE WID YOU!"

Jack coughed. "Well-you'se been different lately. Ever since Neptune toldjya 'bout Sugar. I ain't da only one who's noticed it, neither."

"S'cuse me, boys," Neptune apologized hurriedly as she darted between them and grabbed Tool around the middle.

"Oh yeah?" Spot demanded, his eyes never leaving Jack's.

"Uh, yeah," Jack answered nervously. "You'se been obsessed wid keepin' yer position as leada o' Brooklyn-Christ, ya barely sold a pape all week. Its been a few days since she last saw 'im so dey-have a right not ta care, y'know?"

"I'm only obsessed 'cause I'm worried 'bout my newsies," Spot snapped. "Ya don' know what it was like ta be heah when he was heah, do ya?"

"No, I don'. Alls I know is he was a bastard an' you was right ta git rid o' him." Jack ran his fingers through his hair again and watched Neptune wrestling with Tool, laughing hysterically. He cleared his throat. "But yer boys won' wanna help ya if ya don' treat 'em good."

"I do treat 'em good," Spot cried.

"Well den why don' dey care?" Jack pointed out. "I know you'se worried dat Sugar's gonna pull yer newsies ta his side, but da way yer goin' yer doin' it for him."

-

Spot put his hands in his pockets and pulled out all the money he had, dumping it in a heap on Kloppman's bed. 59 cents. Not nearly enough to get him to Santa Fe. He'd only get as far as Trenton before they threw him off the train. Well, here's my excuse to get out of here, he thought. I have to go and sell some papers or I'll be broke. He liked the idea of going outside so he shook his head like a dog to dry his hair a little, crammed the money back into his pocket, and left the Lodging House. It was too late to sell the morning edition, so when he reached the Distribution Center he leaned against the counter and asked for the afternoon one instead.

"Little early, dontchya think?" Weasel asked nonchalantly as he passed him the papers.

"Nah, I take my time," Spot replied. He lifted the stack onto his shoulder and headed down the street, past City Hall. He then sat down against the wall and opened one of the papers. "Damn, these headlines are bad," he muttered. He stood up and yelled, "Statue o' Liberty fallin' apart! Rebuildin' process startin' next week!" Three people took interest, and he handed them papers and took the pennies.

Unlike what he had told Weasel, Spot did not take his time. He even got a portly woman in a frilly blue dress to give him a nickel by forcing himself to cry and making up a story about his wee brother Charlie and his dead mum. For a couple of hours, he totally forgot about leaving New York that night, and thoroughly enjoyed himself. Nothing chases your worries away better than begging a few suckers to give you money.

He was brought sharply back to life when he heard a familiar voice up ahead. "Man, I'm outta ideas an' I still got ten papes ta sell," Race groaned, coming around the corner.

"I've got six," Blink answered triumphantly. "Statue o' Liberty collapsin'!" he yelled, scaring the shit out of Spot. A man gave him a penny and took a paper. "Five," Blink laughed.

They were drawing steadily closer, and on the spur of the moment Spot decided to make a run for it. He walked directly across their path to cross the street. He glanced back at Race, who looked like he was trying to figure out what exactly he was seeing, and smiled devilishly before pulling his hat down so that it shadowed his eyes and walking away.

"What da hell!" he heard Race bellow. He laughed to himself as he turned the corner. Its fun to mess with Race's head.

-

Spot felt it was a shame that on his last evening in New York, he was trapped in Kloppman's room. Going to sell papers that afternoon had been great, but he had had to come back early so none of the Manhattan boys would see him and now he was caged in again.

He looked around the room, and his eyes fell upon something he hadn't seen before. Pinned to the wall, next to the nail where the towel was hanging, was the strike picture cut out of the newspaper. He got up and walked over to it.

There he was, squashed next to Blink, Race cheering like a maniac, David hopping up and down because Mush had stepped on his toe. That was the way life as a newsie was supposed to be: chaotic, fun, and hazardous to toes. No one was supposed to soak one another for power.

Too late now, Conlon. You screwed up.

He looked at himself again, and realized Blink had had his arms around him at the time. The same arms that later saved Spot's life. Blink was the only one who really cared about him anymore. Mush seemed to have forgotten about him, and everyone else hated him, but Blink was pretending nothing bad had happened.

Spot had no idea what he even bothered.

-

Neptune had a way of tugging at her suspenders that meant she was anxious about something. It was usually just boy trouble, but when she came up to Spot almost yanking them off, he knew this time it was something much more. "I can't find Gutter," she said immediately.

He raised his eyebrows. "He'll turn up, he's probably jest in a fight wid one o' da Queens fellers or sommat."

"Cake is gone, too."

"He'll turn up," Spot repeated calmly. He pulled off his shirt and hung it over the edge of the bed.

"Spot, its ten o'clock."

"Yer point bein'?" He reached up to take off his hat, but she grabbed his hand and pulled him around to face her.

"Ya jest don' get it, do ya Spot?" she snapped.

e frowned, confused, and she sighed and let go of him. "What?" he cried.

Neptune swung herself onto his bed and dangled her legs over the side. "I know Cowboy talked ta ya," she said slowly, staring at her toes. "In any case, ya didn' get da message or yer jest too wrapped up in yer own world to believe it."

He stared at her.

She blew a lock of her dark hair out of her gray eyes. "Spot, some o' da boys are startin' ta think- dat it'd be betta if Sugar came back."

"What're dey nuts?" he demanded.

"I dunno, maybe." She shrugged and took a deep breath. "Or maybe not. You've been real self-centered ever since I mentioned Sugar, an' I guess dey've forgotten how bad it was wid 'im 'cause yer bein' weird too."

"I don' even understand what I'm doin' wrong," Spot said, taking off his hat and setting it beside his shirt. She leaned back a little, chewing her lip.

"Well you've been snappin' at people a whole lot."

"No I haven't," he snapped.

"Yeah you have." She seemed almost scared to go on, but forced herself to continue. "An' you've moved yer sellin' spot away from everybody else's when you an' me and Thunder used ta go t'getha all da time- now ya barely sell yer papes an' jest concentrate on Sugar. Ya won' shaddup 'bout him, Spot; ya know it'd drivin' everybody crazy. An' ya haven't even noticed how all yer boys are startin' ta pull away- I mean, in da last week I've noticed dey keep disappearin', 'specially Gutter, but yer too caught up in everythin' ta realize what it all means."

She looked at him as if to say "There you are. The reasons why they all hate you."

Spot just looked at her, lost for words for the first time in his life. "Uh- g'night, Neptune," he said after a minute.

Neptune brushed her hair over her shoulder and slipped off his bed, looking rather disappointed as though she had hoped for a different reaction. She shrugged slightly. "G'night, Spot."

-

"I'se not kiddin', Cowboy, it was Spot Conlon!" Race insisted, grabbing hold of Jack's sleeve. He turned to Blink. "Didn'tchoo see 'im, Kid?"

"No," Blink lied. "Sides, why da hell would he be out in da streets o' Manhattan tree days after everythin' happened?"

"Dunno, but it was him!"

Jack wrenched Race off of him and grabbed him by the shoulders, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Race," he said slowly. "Spot Conlon is dead. Da old Brooklyn leada came back an' killed him."

"Who- Sugar?" Blink blurted out.

The two boys turned to look at him, Race rubbing his shoulder a little. "Howdchoo heah 'bout Sugar?" Jack asked suspiciously.

Blink leaned back against Kloppman's counter, trying to look casual. "Ya mentioned him once or twice," he said.

"No I didn'," Jack said.

"Yeah you did."

Jack pulled at his bandanna, frowning. "No, I promised Spot I wouldn't an' I'm a man o' my woid."

"Well ya musta spilled."

Blink slipped away, breathing rather heavily. God, I'm such a moron. He climbed the stairs to the sleeping quarters and flung himself onto his bed. He knew Jack would look into the matter; he hadn't done a very good job convincing, and that convinced with Race's sighting that afternoon was almost a dead give-away.

He sat up suddenly. He had to do something. He walked over to the window, pulled it open, and hoisted himself out, letting himself drop lightly to the ground. It was raining like hell outside, lightning forking across the sky. The window to Kloppman's room was next to the door a few feet away, so he crept over to it and opened it.  
Spot was sitting on the bed, counting his earnings from that day.

"I've decided I'm not goin' ta Santa Fe," he said smoothly as Blink climbed inside.

"Mebbe Boston'd be betta an' less expensive." He looked at Blink, trying not to smile as he saw that he was soaked to the skin.

"Conlon, yer an ass," Blink coughed.

"Awright," Spot answered calmly, putting the money into his pockets and fixing his friend with his penetrating blue stare.

Blink rolled his eyes. "Whydjya have ta go an' look at Race like dat? He won' shaddup now, an' I almost blew yer cover by mentionin' Sugar, an' now Jack's real suspicious-"

"What?"

"Ya gotta get outta heah!" he almost yelled.

Spot Conlon is the kind of guy who reacts quickly to situations like these. He leapt up, pulling the pillowcase off Kloppman's pillow,-"Tell Klopp I'm sorry"-dumped his few belongings into it, and slipped out the window with catlike ease. Blink followed clumsily and reached up to shut the window.

"So-uh-to da train station, I guess," he said, trying not to let it show on his face how much it hurt him.

"Awright," said Spot. He began to run down the street, Blink just barely keeping up with him. Man, for a little guy he sure runs fast, he thought. They reached the train station about ten minutes before the last train left for Boston, so they sat down on a bench to catch their breath.

"So-yer goin' ta Boston?"

"Yeah, think so." Spot leaned foreword, resting his arms on his knees. Water ran down his neck and back, but at the moment he didn't care. "Uh, Blink, I never said thanks fer helpin' me out all dis time. I dunno what woulda happened if ya didn', so- well, thanks."

Blink looked at him. "I'm gonna miss ya, Spot."

Spot looked up, surprised etched all over his face. "Really?"

"Well, yeah. Brooklyn won' be da same wid dat Sugar guy around." Blink shrugged. "Who da hell is he, anyways?"

Spot didn't answer. He just looked at the other boy, smiling vaguely. He had finally figured everything out, and he was leaving in ten minutes. He had to act quickly.

So he leaned foreword and kissed Blink.

-

__

Spot was back early from selling his papers, but even so he was startled that none of his newsies were at the Lodging House yet. He was just about to put away his cane and slingshot when Neptune staggered in, half-dead, with a bruise the size of New York City blossoming over her face and a slash across her shoulder. She took a couple of steps before collapsing onto him, gasping for breath.

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, lifting her up into his arms and carrying her up into the sleeping quarters. He dumped her onto the nearest bed.

"No-Spot-" she groaned, standing up. "It ain't important-"

"Whaddaya mean it ain't important?" he demanded. "What da hell happened to ya? Yer a mess, sit down."

She sat. "It was Sugar-"

"Sugar? He did dis to ya? Where is he, dat bastard-" Spot began hotly, reaching for his cane.

"No, ya gotta geddoutta heah," she said weakly. She swallowed. "He an' da odda boys-" It was clear how much pain she was in. Spot grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, but before he knew it she had blacked out. He swore and laid her down on bed, hoping she would be okay. He had no idea where Baxter, the Lodging House supervisor, was, and there was really nothing he could do for Neptune right now.

He heard a floorboard creak gently behind him, but before he could even turn he felt Sugar's fist slam into the side of his face.

Then he realized he really was in deep shit.

-

Blink almost fell over the moment Spot's lips touched his. It was so unexpected and so illogical that he barely had time to think. So he decided not to think at all. He reached up and ran his fingers though Spot's hair. Spot wrapped his arms around him, his tongue tracing over Blink's lower lip. Rain pounded down on them, rolling over their cheeks and sticking to their eyelashes, making the scene even more dramatic.

Spot pulled away, amazed. The light from the streetlamp was shining directly on him, illuminating his eyes and dancing over every curve of his body. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "I love you."

Blink opened his mouth to speak, couldn't find the right words, and closed it again. _Actions speak louder than words, _an annoying little voice in the back of his mind told him as he ran his fingers over Spot's cheekbone. He licked his lips and kissed him again. The old key that hung around Spot's neck scraped gently against Blink's chest as Spot ran his hand over his shoulder and down his back.

Their mouths remained touching for several minutes, and when they finally broke apart they still help each other in their arms. Spot rested his head on Blink's shoulder.

"By da way," said Blink. "I love you too."

Thunder rumbled overhead, combining with the sound of the approaching train. Blink was holding Spot so tightly he thought he might crack a couple of his ribs, but Spot didn't seem to mind. He pulled away, gave him one of his rare Conlon smiles, and swung the soggy pillowcase over his shoulder.

"Spot, ya don' have ta go," Blink said desperately.

Spot shifted his weight. "Yeah, I do. If I stay heah, I'll get killed; ya know dat, Blink. I can't stay in Kloppman's room fereva."

Blink stood up too, close enough to see the hot tears brimming in Spot's eyes. "I'se gonna findjya in Boston," he whispered. "I ain't stayin' heah all by meself. Do dey have newsies up dere?"

"Dunno." Spot's voice trembled slightly.

Blink swallowed, trying and failing to get rid of the lump in his throat. "Damn, if I eva get my hands on dat Sugar feller-"

Spot took hold of the side of his face and kissed him one last time. He could feel Blink's tears running down his cheeks, salty and warm and comforting. "I'm gonna miss ya like hell, Blink," he murmured.

"Yeah-" Blink touched Spot's lip for a second, then spit into his hand and held it out awkwardly. A half-smile crossed Spot's lips as he spit into his own hand and shook Blink's. After a second, he pulled him into a hug.

Blink was silently cursing the world as Spot slowly stepped onto the train. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, severely depressed, before turning to go.

"Blink, where da hell do ya think yer goin'?" He turned to see Spot's perfectly shaped face poking out of one of the windows.

"I didn' think you was gonna say g'bye," he said, shrugging.

"Well I am." Spot smiled rather weakly. "An' if ya don' come ta Boston ta see me, I'll personally soak ya."

"Awright den," Blink replied.

Just then the train started to move, and both boys realized they still had a million things to tell each other. "Dammit," Spot said gruffly. "I neva explained all 'bout Sugar-"

"It's awright," Blink called, starting to jog after the train. As it picked up speed, he broke into a run. Out of all the things he still needed to tell Spot, he chose one. "I LOVE YA, SPOT CONLON!" he shouted.

From what he could see of Spot's face, he was smiling. Then the train rounded the corner and in an instant he was gone.

Blink remained motionless long after the sound of the train had died away. He felt like the only thing he had had just disappeared and there was nothing he could do about it. He knew Spot meant what he said. If he didn't come to Boston, he would kill him. Spot Conlon doesn't joke about things like that. He slowly turned his back on the station, the rain pouring down harder than ever. All he needed was a little more money, then he would leave this city and get on the train to Boston.

Until then, he could wait.


End file.
